Eyes
by VenomAndInk
Summary: He was rapidly becoming better known for his paranoia than his charm, power, or intelligence. But that hardly mattered when everything that had been attempting to kill him shared the same, angry, brown eyes.
1. Chapter 1

Eyes

Summary: He was rapidly becoming better known for his paranoia than his charm, power, or intelligence. But that hardly mattered when everything that had been attempting to kill him shared the same, angry, brown eyes.

An: New Year. New Start. New Story.

Chapter 1 A Growing Anxiety

(break)

Malfoy was drumming his fingers.

Normally this would not be a cause for even a modicum of his attention. Most people drummed their fingers when bored, as it was in this case, or nervous, as was the case when most people were left alone with him. But today, there was something distinctly nerve-wracking about the typical, steady, tattoo of the blonde's fingers against the desk.

 _Thump-thump-thump_

Did the other Slytherin normally tap in threes? Did _anyone_ with all of their fingers only tap in threes? Tom's gaze slowly shifted from Dumbledore's lecturing form, something he normally wouldn't do in order to avoid retribution from the ginger man, to the pale drumming fingers on the desk next to his.

 _Thump-thump-thump_

Life was a series of patterns, Tom knew. People did not break from the routines of their boring lives for no reason, especially when that something was as trivial as drumming one's fingers. He was reasonably sure that this was the first time Malfoy tapped in this odd series of threes, why else would something so non-essential grab his attention.

 _Thump-thump-thump_

 _Malfoy paints his nails,_ he noted mildly as light glinted off the clear coat of polish on the pureblood's rapidly twitching phalanges. The other teenager, at that moment, noticed Tom's intense stare and curled those pattern shattering appendages into a fist. A ruddy flush flared up in Malfoy's pale cheeks.

"Sorry, Tom." Malfoy muttered.

Tom didn't respond and returned his attention back to Dumbledore.

 _Tap-tap-tap_

Tom tensed as the new sound filled the brief silence Malfoy had left behind. It only took a few seconds to identify where it was coming from. The Gryffindor in front of him, nicknamed Slim by his housemates despite his obvious weight problem, was tapping his foot.

 _Tap-tap-tap_

Slim was chronically twitchy, always moving with an odd fevered restlessness. There was normally no rhyme or reason to his jittering movements… until today. Tom, as casually as he could, laid his hand over his wand, and waited.

 _Tap-tap-tap_

His nerves brought every detail of the stuffy classroom into sharp focus. There were three rows of twenty wooden desks, each desk sporting a sad sag in the middle from years of the combined weight of teenage flesh and books. Not to mention the deep scorch marks of failed spells, some, he was almost sure, came from the time of the school's opening. The aisles between these rows were hardly large enough to walk single file down, and most students bore the bruises from clipping a hip on some errant desk corner. He couldn't fathom why they didn't move to a larger room. _Or simply enlarge this one,_ he thought with a sniff.

There was an even split of sixty Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Normally, _naturally_ segregated into their mutual groups in every other classroom, but Dumbledore forced the students to mix in unhealthy ways. Tom's skin crawled at the sight of the patchwork of green and red robes spread in front of him. He was only able to escape this mixing because his previous Gryffindor partner found him… uncomfortable.

 _Tap-tap-tap_

 _Tap-tap-tap_

 _Tap-tap-tap_

The hair on the back of his neck stood and, almost against his will, he gripped his wand. A bright green spark flew from the tip and hit Malfoy's perfectly manicured hand. With a melodramatic yelp the boy jerked out of his seat and fell into the aisle. There was an angry red welt on the back of this thumb, and the blonde cradled it to his chest. Had he less poise Tom was sure the other boy would be crying. Tom quickly dropped his wand back onto his desk.

"Mr. Malfoy," Tom had to avoid flinching at the sound of Dumbledore's voice as he approached. "Are you quite alright?"

The blonde's silver eyes flicked between Tom and Dumbledore and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Yes sir, fine."

The old man frowned as Malfoy quickly stood and shoved hands into his pockets.

"Oh? Then is there a particular reason you are disrupting my lecture?"

"I… fell asleep and had some sort of nightmare. I'm sorry sir."

The blond kept his head slightly bowed when he responded, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

One of the older wizard's bushy red eyebrows went up.

"An impressive feat then Mr. Malfoy, not many can sleep with their eyes open."

There were a few titters from the Gryffindors around them. A splotch of red appeared on the pureblood's cheeks and Tom decided Malfoys were rather ugly when blushing.

"Practice, sir?" He offered weakly. More bouts of laughter erupted from the students surrounding them. Dumbledore's frown deepened.

"I do not appreciate being told falsehoods, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points from Slytherin, and I will see you after class." With that the old wizard returned to the front of the room, missing the face Malfoy made at his back.

The blond slumped back into his seat, looking very much like the dejected fifteen-year-old he was instead of the heir to one of the oldest families in the wizarding world. The scowl evaporated when he turned his attention to Tom.

"What did I do?" He whispered, a hint of a whine in his tone.

"Not now." Tom growled, and gave a quick jerk of his head toward Dumbledore. The man had resumed lecturing, but his eyes were on the two of them now.

"Now that everyone is awake, I do believe we will move on to a demonstration." Dumbledore continued. With a flick of his wand everything flew off of the teacher's desk and carefully organized itself against the wall behind the chalk board. The students perked up in interest. Dumbledore's lectures might have been dull, but watching the man cast was always interesting. Tom rolled his eyes and settled back into his seat.

He had no idea why anyone would need to turn furniture into animals when once could _conjure_ them directly. Either way, Tom had been able to do the task the old man had been lecturing about since last year. _Your magic no longer impresses me old man, one day soon I will surpass you._ The teen thought, satisfied, as Dumbledore brought his wand down to the recently cleared desk.

 _ **Tap-tap-tap**_

Tom's shoulders stiffened. The threes, again. There was no need for such tapping with this particular spell. Tom's fingers twitched, and he felt a great longing to have his wand in his hand once more, but didn't dare touch it again with the old man watching. As if aware of the thought the teacher glanced up at him before tapping his wand against his desk again.

 _ **Tap. Tap. Tap.**_

The table twisted and contorted, sprouting tawny fur, long powerful legs, a sleek tail, a strong spotted muzzle, fangs four inches long- a lioness. The creature took an unsteady step forward, wobbling as if drunk, her ears flickering back and forth. She paused finally at the first row of desks with a confused sounding rumble, looking this way and that, whiskers twitching. As the newly transfigured creature tried to orient herself, long curved claws extended and retracted. Tom could almost hear the sound of them scrapping over the stone floor.

 **Scrape-scrape-scrape**

A collective _'Ohhhhhh'_ came from the students. The big cat turned her head toward the sound, large brown eyes blinking as if trying to clear them. Tom tensed. _Those eyes, those are not animal eyes._

The creature took another wobbly step forward.

Dumbledore basked in the awe of his students, and if Tom was not so intent on the lioness he might have rolled his eyes. But every sense he had was screaming _danger!_ He took his wand in hand again, damn the consequences, and slowly tried to adjust himself so he would be able to leap from his seat in a hurry if that proved necessary.

He shifted in his chair, and winced at the sound it made as he pushed back and away from the desk. The big cat's gaze snapped toward him. He froze. The she-cat's burning eyes found his and her jaw dropped open in a comical human imitation of surprise.

The peace between them lasted for only three heart-beats.

With a deafening roar the creature leapt for him, and with a roar of his own he rose to meet her.

The battle had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Normally, I update once a week. But sometimes its sooner, and sometimes it's a bit later, especially when school is in session. Expect updates at least every 10 days or so. Also, thank you to my first reviewers, I appreciate the feedback.

Chapter 2 Gateway

* * *

This was wrong.

Hermione tapped her chalk against the stone floor, giving an involuntary shudder as the sound echoed through the barren classroom.

 _Tap-tap-tap_

 _Tap-tap-tap_

 _Tap…tap…tap_

She calmed as the sound faded away, but the stiffness did not leave her shoulders. The silence that permeated through the old castle was oppressive, and heavy, but it felt wrong to break it. Almost against her will she started tapping the chalk stick against the ground again, this time gently enough to keep the sound from echoing.

 _This has to be perfect._ She bit her lip and consulted the book again. Around the basic ritual she had scribbled her own notes into the margins, what had worked… what had gone wrong. The thick vine-like scar on her neck pulsed, and she had to resist the urge to scratch it.

 _Throb-throb-throb._

She swallowed heavily and tried to ignore the phantom pain.

 _No more mistakes._

Hermione returned to her work, ignoring the little voice that whispered each and every rule she was breaking as she broke it.

 _Over thirty now._ She thought, jaw clenching as she traced a rune into the stone. _But who is left to punish me?_ That silenced what conscience she still had. She spelled her wrist for steadiness when she started to draw the more complicated patterns, hardly breathing as she made perfect circles, lines, triangles, squares. A muggle computer couldn't achieve more perfect results, she thought, taking a step back to observe her work.

She idly wiped chalk dust onto her ragged jeans as she walked the full circumference of the circle. No gaps, that was good, it was even as well, that had been her problem last time. Magic had built up in the uneven portions, much like a clogged artery, and then gave out mere minutes after she had stared the ritual.

The resulting explosion had almost killed her. The memory made her scar start to ache again.

 _Throb-Throb-Throb_

With great care she put her materials away. _Stalling._ She mentally chided herself as she slipped the ritual book, her chalk, and the half eaten remains of her lunch into her bag. _Stalling._ She accused again as she washed her hands, using what water she had left instead of spelling them clean. _STALLING._ She hissed at herself a final time as she bound her hair back into a messy bun.

There was nothing left to do.

If her hands hadn't been spelled for steadiness, she knew they would be trembling. She could feel her pulse quicken, and her scar grew hotter as fear set in. The angry pulse of the old injury grew stronger as she entered the ritual circle.

 **.THROB.**

She lay on her back, coordinating herself so her head pointed east, toes west, arms stretched out north and south. Hermione started her spell.

Her voice rang out, clear as a bell, despite the terror threatening to choke her, and a phantom wind started to blow. Old dust stirred and she had to shut her eyes against the grit. While her eyes were protected, her lungs were not. She inhaled great dirty mouthfuls of it, and she had to fight the urge to cough.

If she wavered, for even a second, the spell would tear her apart. Tears caressed her cheeks.

 _I don't want to die._

She wanted to moan as ancient magic worked its way under her skin, finding her bodies' personal ley lines. She was earth, and water, and wind, and _fire_. Her magic burned in her chest like a hot coal, trying to sear its way out of the fragile container that held it. Hermione couldn't move, could hardly breathe, and she was sure she was babbling nonsense now although it didn't matter. The magic knew what to do now without vocal direction, her intent, her iron _will_ was all that mattered now.

 _You know what I want, now DO IT._

Her magic roared in compliance, and her soul rose out of her fragile body. There was no pain, her neck no longer ached, and she could see without having to worry about the grit still swirling in the crackling air. She was lighter than air, she could dance on the wind if she wanted. She might have done just that if a sudden angry pulsing hadn't drawn her attention.

The body, her body, was glowing red, and long thread like things rose up to wrap around her ankles and wrists. Her life tether, to keep her from true death. The strong tethers reminded her that she had a mission, she could not simply dally about and whirl with dust motes.

 _Its working!_ She thought, giddy as a first year Hufflepuff. The magic was holding, no explosions, no pain. Now all she needed was the gate. _"Gate_." She ordered and the ritual magic flared at her command. An old white picket fence appeared in front of her, it reminded her of the fence that surrounded her grandmother's house.

 _Not quite what I expected. But I suppose a gateway is a gateway._

She looked down at her body one more time. It seemed as if she were sleeping peacefully, harmless, helpless. _The protections will hold._ She assured herself, gently placing a hand on the wooden gate. _I have to believe that._ The gate swung open at her touch, and with only a moment's hesitation, she floated through.


End file.
